


The Hidden Shadow

by darksoldier54



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Romance, Science Fiction, Work In Progress, action / adventure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4481612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksoldier54/pseuds/darksoldier54
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sith apprentice – plagued by a strange voice in his head – must regain lost prestige by rescuing one of their own from a Republic prison. When the mission goes awry, resulting in his capture, he must help the Jedi protect a senator wanted dead. But aiding them threatens all he believes in, awakens forgotten memories, and evokes a feelings he's always feared: love.</p><p>(Ahsoka x OC)</p><p>This work is also posted on Wattpad & FanFiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude - Contracts

**A** bove the turbolift’s threshold the electronic floor indicator counted up, and he counted with it.

_165, 166, 167…_

                He fidgeted in his drab civilian clothes. _This is the most uncomfortable shit ever_ , he thought anxiously, _I pity the fucks who wear this._ Regardless of his thoughts, he knew they were necessary. Disguised as a homeless man, he easily slipped into the Senate building undetected, and fooling the guards with the sickening odors that clung to his clothes.

                Deception is what he did best. Deception is what gets a job done.

                Subtract all the rags, scrub him up a bit, and he’d have the ladies eating out of his hand. His chiseled features – with those steely eyes and the attractively tousled dirty blonde mop on his head – seemed better than his ill-mannered nature. Put a smile on those thin lips of his, and he’d obtain all the attention in the room; something, where he came from, that was frowned upon; he needed to stay hidden.

_201, 202, 203…_

                Almost there.

                Dangling beside him was his weapon’s narrow hilt, asleep just waiting to wake and do his bidding. His knowledge in the Force helped him conceal it upon entry. This went with him wherever he went, and right now he took it as a precaution. His target didn’t need a laser sword to end his life. The job was simple: he’d walk into the office as the distraction, and his friend would make their appearance and they’d do the kill together. Afterwards, it’d be splitting the bounty and walking away.

                Certainly, it was a more reliable income source than training three useless apprentices to push forward the rebirth of the Sith Empire. There were at least four – counting himself – Sith followers that remained hidden from the Jedi and the Republic. They planned to stay away from the Republic and its war against the Confederacy. _They_ planned to stay away; he didn’t.

                The lift dinged on his desired floor, and the massive doors slid open. He stepped out into the dark hallway, noting how late in the evening it’d become since he arrived. A massive window pane stretched in front of him, circling around the floor with the picturesque look of Coruscant’s cityscape at sundown.

                But he didn’t come here to admire the view. Grimly, he headed to the right, passing a several closed doors, and arrived at the one with a gilded plaque had, “SENATOR KARAKA LANRAX,” posted on the door.

                His fingers furled into his palm.

_Knock-knock!_

                “Come in!” a booming voice instantly replied.

                He opened the door and stepped inside. On entry, he surveyed the area – a small rectangular space only furnished with a desk and two armchairs suitable for quests – and spotted Lanrax at his desk hunched over a datapad in his hands. The senator wasn’t too old, nor was he young. Being middle-aged, he had racked up much respect from his fellow peers but had so much to learn.

                The latch clicked when the door shut behind him, leaving them alone in the dimly lit room. Until the senator started screaming for the guards, their one-on-one quality time was on a clock. _Time to make the most of it_ , he thought gleefully, _just a short time together: the predator and its prey._

                “Can I help you?” Lanrax now had his full attention on the stranger. Those oblivious blue eyes, that soft, friendly smile, made the man’s heart sing with sadistic excitement.

                “Yes. Perhaps you can,” he said. He walked over to the senator’s desk, not bothering to sit down. He folded his hands behind his back, showing an intriguing grin to match the senator’s smile.

                Lanrax raised an eyebrow. “ _Well?”_

                “I’m waiting for a friend, you see, and we promised to talk to you about something…personal. He’s just so damn good at explaining things; way better than I do.” He watched the senator’s smile slipped away.

                “Personal?” he said.

                “Ah, yes- personal.”

                “…How personal are we talking?” Uncertainty slipped in the senator’s tone.

                “Ah, you know, personal shit – something you’re bound to help us with, right?” Well, it was official: small talk definitely wasn’t his forte. His friend better man their appearance soon. _Where the fuck is he?_

                Lanrax’s voice shoved him back to the present: “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

                He leaned on the desk, looking at Lanrax straight in the eye. “Look, Senator, you’re a very busy man, and I didn’t come here smelling like shit for nothing. Let’s just wait for my friend, okay?”

                “Uh-huh,” was all Lanrax said. As his hands moved from his lap, his knuckle tapped the desk’s underside.

                Drawing in a deep breath, the Force enhanced the man’s senses. The dark side helped him breathe easier, and survey Lanrax’s feelings better. Lanrax seemed nervous just for a second and then an odd sense of calm fell over him. Then it suddenly dawned on him; the tap beneath the desk.

                He straightened his posture and sighed, “I honestly hoped I wasn’t the one getting my hands messy—” He grabbed Lanrax’s shoulders and hauled him out of his office chair and over his desk, his breath hot against his skin “—but sometimes, you need to take matters in your own hands.”

                Using his mind, the desk hurled across the room – out of the way. He threw the senator against the wall and repositioned his hands around the man’s warm throat. His fingers squeezed the soft skin, feeling the esophagus against his palm. Lanrax thrashed, kicking vainly as his body slid higher up the wall. His throat let out a gargled scream.

                “Don’t make this harder for me—” His head tilted to the side, listening. Thunderous footfall raced several meters down the hallway and he scowled. He tightened his grip and felt the senator strain in his grasp. Through the dark side, he drank in Lanrax’s fear, embraced it as it fed him a high that he always thrived for. That high became his life.

                Lanrax’s hand clawed at the corner of his eye, breaking skin.

                The man growled furiously and fought the urge to retract his hands, but the senator’s nails clawed again – digging into his skin like fanged parasites – and he relented. Gasping, Lanrax dropped to his feet and managed to swing a punch. His attacker stumbled back in a daze.

                Exploding through the door, the guards flooded into the room with their blasters poised for the skill. Not much time, thought the man as he reached to his side. His hilt fit perfectly in his palm and awakened with a spine-tingling snap-hiss. Springing to life, a bar of pure plasma appeared by his side, its scarlet glow illuminating the dim room.

                “He sent you, didn’t he?” Lanrax said just below a whisper.

                He nodded just to humor the senator. In all honesty, he didn’t know who “he” was, nor did he know who hired his friend in the first place.

                “What the fuck?” one whispered softly. “Is that… _Dooku?_ ”

                “Nah, it can’t be,” another chided.

                “Stand down—” the leading guard shouted, “— deactivate your weapon and come quietly.”

_There’s no way that’s happening!_

                His blade whirled around as he pivoted on his heels and bounded forward. The guards open fire, and in an instant he kept the rain of blaster bolts away from him. Nothing but chaos erupted in this room, and his friend was missing all the fun.       

                A dozen guards had piled themselves into the room, a foolish mistake. With these close quarters, it was difficult to duke out a fight. The man face was lit with a ghastly smile as he closed the distance between him and the guards, and went unleashed his frenzy. His blade swung like an extension to his arm, deflecting bolts and sending them back to their source, severing others in half, and cleanly decapitating the lucky ones.

                Before they knew it, all guards were disposed of.

                His attention returned to Lanrax, who peeked out from behind his desk with horrified eyes. The death pooling at the entryway to his office was a grisly sight. But, surprisingly, he remained cool, and bold. “I-I’m not afraid of you,” he said, swallowing back the fear that attempted to climb up his throat like vomit. He slowly stood up, completely exposed, and backed himself to the wall. Like such a frightened animal.

                He scoffed. “You should be—” His arm raised back and prepared to send his blade in for the kill when, suddenly, something sharp dug into his back and jolted him on his face. Electricity pulsed through his body, shut down his nerves. His laser sword slipped from his weakened grasp and deactivated beside him. Convulsions possessed his body and he thrashed, like a mindless animal, until he fell still.

                New guards shouldered past the door, with their blasters set to stun no doubt. They maneuvered around the gory mess, splitting into two groups: one to check on the shaken senator, and the other to restrain the intruder.

                At least the man’s mind still sprinted through the process of thought. He closed his eyes, concentrating deep and reaching out. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, trying to contact his old Sith friends through their shared telepathy.

                “ _Tylo_ ,” he mused soundlessly. There was nothing better than hearing the voice of an old friend. He called again, but he didn’t hear a reply.

                Two guards leaned over him, one injecting him with a sedative that started to make his mind grow fuzzy. The connection was beginning to slip away with his consciousness. Together, the burly men heaved him up by the arms and dragged him out.

                Before his focus slipped away, he momentarily considered the friend that failed to make their appearance. And that anger would hold him over until rescue came, if it ever did.


	2. Chapter 1 - Lost In the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distractions can have dire consequences, but redemption might just be around the corner.

**N** othing else lived on Korriban’s bleak volcanic terrain, so that left distracting question in Shadow’s mind: why was a voice tangled up in the wind? The shrill that belonged to a woman filled to the brim of terror from an unknown threat.

                This wasn’t the first time he heard her, oh no. Each time, when the faint noise reached his ears, an enigmatic guilt pressed against his chest. He didn’t understand why he felt guilty at all; he didn’t know her. But then again, that is all the voice was: faint. So distant and brief, it left him wondering it was all in his head. Here on Korriban, it was just him and his master, Orron – no one else.

                But today, the stranger’s voice sounded different; it sounded close.

                Because of her he broke the steady, aggressive rhythm of his hand-to-hand combat drills. Like a hook, her voice reeled in his attention. Involuntarily, his eyes jerked over his shoulders and he listened carefully to the wind as it continued snaking through the dry valley. The Valley of the Dark Lords sheltered nothing but ghosts, their ghoulish ambience living freely on the planet. Shadow was certainly convinced he was just hearing a ghost.

                _There’s no way I’m crazy. This shit’s in my head._

                His mind needed to focus on other things, better things. As quick as he was to pause and listen, he quietly resumed his drills. The rhythm and fierce movement returned to him all at once, muscle memory from the time he was eight. It’d been ten years since he was once seen as the reluctant apprentice, but now his master was proud to deem him as the eager one, along with everyone else.     Shadow imagined a target and leaped, sweeping his leg smoothly into the air, and imagined his heel slamming into the target’s temple. He threw out different combinations of strikes: right hooks, left hooks, elbow strikes and knee strikes; occasionally high and low kicks, feigning some foreleg blocks. He didn’t stop even when the ache of his muscles begged him to.

                If he was to practice for several hours, he was to practice for several hours. But that was the consequences of distraction. That confounding voice bringing him into loads of trouble with his master! Korriban’s sun stood pressing against his bare back, giving the thin sweat layered over his pockmarked skin a soft sheen. Lucky for him, the wind managed to help him stay cool.

                His dark lightsaber hilt tapped consistently against his hip, as if reminding him that it was there if he ever planned to use it. This didn’t seem like the appropriate time to, but his master insisted that he kept it on him at all times. Anything could go wrong out there.

                Shadow’s mind wandered back to the woman’s scream. He asked questions he repeatedly asked himself, but he never found answers; his mind just couldn’t supply them. He thought back, to years before he started training in the Sith traditions, but his mind only turned up blank pages. Everything seemed…fuzzy. Like the blackout kind of fuzzy.

                Suddenly, his legs flew out from under him and his back thudded unto the ground. His head thwacked into the dirt soon after. He flinched, rolled slowly to his knees, rubbing the back of his head and feeling the sweat that made his dark hair feel greasier than before. His green eyes lifted up and met the bright, gilded stare that belonged to Orron Pellis. And he did not look pleased.

                “What have I told you about repetitive strikes?” Orron’s deep voice boomed.

                “Makes me predictable,” Shadow replied in a voice just above a whisper. He hated sounding small, but in order to maintain a respectful tone he needed to speak beneath his master’s louder voice.

                “And what do I see here? I’ve seen you do the same right hook in the last five minutes!”

                _Has it really been that long?_ Shadow thought, wondering how far gone he was in his mind.

                “You’re distracted,” Orron continued. “Is there something more important than training, Shadow?”

                “No, master,” he replied lowly, “there’s nothing more important than—”

                “Don’t lie to me!” Orron’s hand – with inhuman strength – whipped across his cheek. Shadow’s head jerked to the side as the slap followed through and kept his eyes averted to the ground.

                “There’s nothing, master!” Shadow repeated, “There’s nothing more important.” He fought to raise his voice, struggling to ignore the sizzle tingling in his now-reddened cheek. He wanted his master to be satisfied and move on.

                “Good.” Orron didn’t sound so convinced. “Your mind is plagued with distractions, that much is clear. These distractions halt your purpose; you’re no greater than the warrior and leader you originally were when I found you.”

                Shadow didn’t reply, seeing it best not to.

                Orron continued despite his apprentice’s silence: “You’re unprepared. _Unfit._ You desire to help me bring back the Sith Empire, and yet you lack so much in your training. For the past week you’ve been slipping, your hand strikes, kicks, and blocks are shitty; you fail to pay attention during my lessons!” He took a deep breath, shaking his head as he said in a harsher tone, “And you fucking believe you’re fit to lead?”

                Shadow didn’t object to his master’s haughty, mocking laughter.

                “The other apprentices are faring far better than you,” he pressed when his apprentice still didn’t reply. “I’m even certain that your pathetic brother – yes, I’m talking about Kareb – is actually far better than you. How ironic: the weakest brother outranks the strongest.”

                “Don’t you talk about him that way,” Shadow snapped. He didn’t bother speaking in a respectful tone. Anger panged in his stomach at the thought of his year-younger kin. Usually the thought of Kareb conjured up fond feelings and memories, however, when his master spoke ill of him, he now only felt hate.

                “I can say what I want; and what I say is the truth.”

                Shadow’s hands balled up into fists, jaw tight as he tried to remain respectful.

                “Honestly,” Orron sighed, “you and Kareb deserved to stay bleeding in the dirt all those years ago – with no family, not even a home. Had I known one of you was spineless, and the other distracted, you would have gotten your earnings.” His voice grew louder as he stalked forward, his face a couple inches away from his apprentice’s. “We’re done for the day. Tomorrow, you’re doubling your exercises, _again_. At least until you learn to focus, we can move on.”

                Shadow didn’t speak, or at least kept his voice stuffed in his chest. He knew that if he uttered a single word – especially the wrong word – he’d lose control and strange his master. And if his master added more vulgar words and insults, he was prepared for it. Throughout his ten years of grueling training, he’d grown use to his master’s verbal – and sometimes physical – abuse. That eventually molded a reluctant eight-year-old boy into an obedient, submissive, and eager apprentice.

                His master whirled around, keeping his back to him, and started walking. “Hopefully,” Orron added casually over his shoulder, “you won’t share the weakling’s _unfortunate_ fate.” A fiendish grin hatched out across his face as he tilted his gaze slightly over his shoulder, just to see the reaction.

                Before he knew it, Shadow’s lightsaber was alive in his hand. With all his might, he hurled his laser sword at his master in a practiced arc. Orron threw himself out of its path, tucking and rolling smoothly in the dirt and landing back on his feet. By the time he stood again, his own lightsaber was ignited in his hand with its tip aimed in Shadow’s direction. By then, Shadow’s blade returned to his grasp.

                “Careful,” Orron jeered, smiling fiercely. The sun brought him alive, revealing to Shadow that a man in his late forties could match his youthful energy and strength. Not even a sweat broke out over his dark skin.

                Shadow ignored the mock warning. He fed the anger inside, drawing in the dark side and soaking it like a sponge. He pressed off, closing on his master in a matter of seconds. His scarlet blade slashed for the shoulder. His master parried.

                He cut for the throat. Orron ducked and slammed his knee into Shadow’s gut. “Oof,” escaped his lips as he stumbled, managing to maintain his footing as his master’s own blade cleaved for his chest. Shadow’s feet involuntarily shuffled backwards.

                Orron’s blade swept for the legs and Shadow leaped, repositioned his blade vertically, and swung down over his master’s head. The older man intercepted it adeptly with matching power, the hisses and sputters from their same-colored blades tickling out a satisfying grin from him.

                Suddenly, Orron redirected Shadow’s weapon and opened up his entire right side. His leg swept up and thumped against his ribs. His blade repositioned and speared the tip at his apprentice’s pelvis. Shadow sidestepped, batted away the threat aside, and slammed the butt of his hilt against Orron’s nose.

                His master stumbled back, stunned. Shadow advanced, bringing his blade into contact with Orron’s leading knee. As the blades clashed again, he couldn’t help but think of this as one of their many spars. The only thing that set this apart from those other spars was the certainty that only one of them would make it out alive.

                But in the moment, Shadow joyfully thrived off this. Together they moved as they should, master and apprentice, knowing each planned movement like an endless mind game. They attempt to stay one step ahead of each other, but no matter what each hit was predictable. Regardless, they maintained their aggressive dance: swift feign jabs and slashes, followed with the combination of kicks and punches with their free hand.

                Their struggle pressed into the pillars, matched with equal strength and agility. Orron kicked his apprentice back, reaching out his free hand toward a half-buried pillar. The stone rumbled and crumbled until it lifted and made a rapid beeline for Shadow.

                Shadow leaped aside and the projectile dived into the ground in a fragmented mess. His gaze, just in time, caught the sight of his master’s out reached hand pointed right at him! White lightning cackled as it sprinted right at him. But Shadow’s achy muscles reacted too late. The bolt hit him square in the chest, setting his nerves on fire. He didn’t know that his lightsaber slipped out from his grasp; he didn’t even know that his body was flying in the air until he landed: his head smacked into a fallen pillar and his vision sucked into a black hole.

                Everything sounded muffled, and the air suddenly felt harder to breathe. He fought to take a breath but he choked on a cough. His fingers traced along what felt like stone, dug into the grainy dirt beneath him. He swore he was blinking, but he wasn’t sure.

                He heard a faint cackle, reminding him of popping embers. And following that noise was a smell: the scent of wood smoke. And then, he heard her again! This time it was loud and clear, as if the woman sat right beside him, but when he turned to look he saw no one as if he sat in a pitch black room.

                Suddenly, his vision dotted and the familiar sights of the valley returned to him. The noise and smells of fire, along with the woman’s scream, dissipated, and he found himself staring right at his master’s unamused gaze. But he couldn’t help but think of her voice: lost in the wind again.

                The tip of Orron’s lightsaber hummed so close to his chest he was almost certain it was prepared to plunge deep into his heart, to make him understand the price for letting exhaustion take its toll so early in the battle. Shadow’s head throbbed, his eyes aching to focus on something.

                “Distracted again, I see,” Orron mused.

                “No.”

                His master laughed half-heartedly. “I see—” His blade slashed his apprentice’s bare chest, conjuring up a visible flinch, and left and fresh mark. “I’m really tired of your lies,” he sighed. He pressed the tip of his blade delicately against the cut he just made, letting it sink deeper into Shadow’s skin and torturously tracing it over.

                Shadow cried out loud, trying to wiggle away but something kept him rooted down by his wrists; invisible chains no doubt procured by his master through the Force. Fresh blood trickled down his skin as the heat vanished from his chest, leaving him struggling for breathe. Orron crouched down to eye-level. “Do you have anything to say for yourself,” he asked softly.

                He didn’t answer, certain that if he spoke it surely meant worse punishment. But this wasn’t the worst case, apparently.

                Orron backhanded his apprentice, growling impatiently, “Speak.”

                He barely spoke above a whisper, “..N-no, Master.”

                “Louder!” The tip of Orron’s lightsaber went back to trace over the cut again. “Say it _louder_.” The blade begins to descend back into the cut—

                “No, Master,” Shadow hissed, raising his voice loud enough to pass as a respectful tone and be heard.

                Satisfied, Orron’s blade withdrew. “Challenge me again,” he warned, “and I won’t be so gracious.” His lightsaber deactivated and he returned to stood up. “Tomorrow, you’re _tripling_ your drills. And perhaps if you do well, you’ll get your lightsaber back—” Shadow’s hilt flew into his outstretched hand and he hitched it to his belt along with his own.

                Shadow slowly pushed himself to his feet. “Yes, Master.”

                “ _Orron!_ ” a new voice shouted, startling them.

                Both their eyes focused to the valley’s opening where a lone, cloaked figure sprinted toward them. When he neared them, he threw off his cowl and revealed his familiar features, unforgettable features. Handsome looks were subtracted from his appearance thanks to the nasty burns marring the whole left side of his body. His snub nose lifted slightly, as if disgusted by the sight of Shadow’s grimy shirtless torso.

                Shadow recognized him as Kareb’s master.

                “What are you doing here, Tylo?” Orron’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, not in the slightest thrilled about this unannounced visit and violation of their seclusion.

                Tylo disregarded his hostility, drawing in a deep, uneasy breath. And his next few words were ones neither of them liked to hear.

                “We’ve got a situation.”


	3. Chapter 2 - Unfortunate allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The acceptance of a burdening rescue mission, and the recruitment of a feather-ruffling ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took longer to edit than expected.

**E** verything suddenly felt strange.

Shadow had grown use to the still quiet inside the old Sith Academy's pyramidal structure, but the presence of other lively beings somehow disrupted that. However, he was convinced that it was more than the presence of others that ruined the solace. Something else haunted him.

He, and the other two apprentices, Kareb and Sheema, stood in the academy's main chamber. Anxiously, he smoothed out his dark tunic, the one he recently put on to conceal the bandaged underneath. But thankfully he wasn't the only one anxious. Kareb and Sheema paced restlessly back and forth, wondering what was taking their masters so long.

Right now, the three masters were discussing the current situation in Orron's chambers on the far side of the academy and had been there for hours. That given time gave Shadow the opportunity to sort out what unfolded between him and his master a few hours earlier. His chest still ached even after he cleaned and dressed the wound, and left him cursing that mystery woman's damn scream. Not only did it leave his chest aching, but a throbbing migraine was presently sucking his strength like a leech.

With will power, he prevailed, using the Force to help ease the pain pinching the back of his neck and head. As much as he wanted to close his eyes and flop on his bunk, he knew there were better things to do. Things such as reconnecting with the two people he lost touch with years ago.

To him, Kareb hadn't changed a day: he still had his baby-face, a mop of feathered brown hair, and his eager green eyes. The only thing different was his pale, pockmarked skin - similar to Shadow's. And Sheema, on the other hand, underwent the most change. Her dark hair grew longer, and wavy, and her pale gray eyes looked stormier than ever. And she no longer was the petite eight-year-old girl Shadow often sparred again; she grew longer legs, and fitted perfectly into an slender figure.

During the waiting hours, none of them spoke. But that was about to change.

"It's...it's good to see you," Shadow finally mused to the both of them.

They both stopped in mid-step and stared at him. And after a moment they glanced at each other, and the widest grins stretched across their faces.

"Now he speaks," Sheema chortled, "I thought your silence was your way of being an ass." She folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head, a glimmer of dark amusement in her eyes. "So, besides almost becoming a douche bag, what’s going on with you? Did Master Orron beat the shit out of you again? Or were my eyes playing tricks when you walked in?”

Shadow's muscled tightened, suppressing a flinch. "Training exercise," he replied curtly, keeping his voice level. "A spar that went a little...overboard."

Her slender eyebrow arched with curiosity before she looked at Kareb. "And when _you_ came in, you were glowing with excitement; actually, you still are. What's got you so cheery?"

Thankful the conversation quickly averted away from him, Shadow gladly focused his attention on his brother, who looked like he was contemplating whether to answer or not. He, too, could see the glow Sheema noted on his arrival.

"The Republic captured Rayshk Thosk," Kareb blurted, "and Master Tylo will probably send us to rescue him!"

It wasn't the news that caught Shadow off guard, but the depth to his brother's voice. And then, he remembered how old Kareb was now: sixteen. A part of him wished his brother wasn't so old know, but the other part of him held a large amount of pride. Kareb survived this long as Tylo's apprentice, and no doubt that guaranteed more years to come.

Sheema scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Rescue mission?” she echoed coldly. “A rescue for a guy we don’t even fucking know? That makes no sense!” Her gaze tilted at Shadow, a storm brewing in her eyes as the result of her frustration. “This is a petty assignment; I’m sure our masters could think of something better—”

“ _You_ go where _I_ say you go, Sheema.” A dark voice bounced off the chamber walls with a ghastly ambiance, and all three apprentices turned their eyes to the opening hallway which led to Orron’s chambers. There, the three masters stood shoulder-to-shoulder, glowering at their apprentices disapprovingly.

Sheema’s cheeks flushed with shame and she bowed her head lowly toward the masters, more specifically the one who spoke and made them aware of their presence. “I am ashamed, Master Vittion,” she said.

Vittion stepped forward, letting her robed figure be somewhat illuminated regardless of the academy’s dim, dusty lighting. She was, too, in her mid-forties with high cheek-bones and prominent lips. One could say she looked like Sheema - or at least Sheema looked like her - with the pale gray eyes and the wavy dark hair, but everyone knew that neither of them were family, according to Sheema.

“I see that you’re ashamed, and I hope that you endure that shame longer after we explain what’s going on,” Vittion muttered coldly. When her apprentice straightened her posture and kept her eyes on the ground, Vittion glanced at Shadow and adding dryly, “I see there are _two_ misfits now.”

Anger setting his blood to a boil, Shadow luckily suppressed a nasty retort. The last thing he needed was to lose more prestige, and already it felt like he lost a lot from his master. In silence, he followed Sheema's motions and maintained his gaze on his feet, and kept his ears open to listen.

“As Kareb has already explained to you,” Tylo spoke up quickly, “Rayshk Thosk, our _ally_ , is in the Republic’s disgusting clutches. He is vital to our group, as you all must know, but he houses secrets about our group that no one in this universe knows except us. But now, because of his capture, we’re forced to accelerate our plans. The universe will soon know all three of you exist.”

Together, Shadow and Sheema raised their heads at the mention of the Republic's possible knowledge of their existence. They shared a look that encouraged their masters to continue, the eager glow in their eyes unmistakably present.

“Rayshk is somewhere on Coruscant, this much we’ve deduced from his telekinetic link with Tylo,” Orron continued. "His exact location is unknown, and it's only a matter of time before he's moved far beyond our reach. After much debate, it is decided that you three will burden the task to rescue him. This is a perfect opportunity to apply what we've taught you."

This is my chance to regain favor, Shadow thought excitedly. He'd do anything for this! And he'd do anything in his power to rid his subconscious of that annoying voice in his head. He wanted to speak out, to eagerly accept this burden, but his voice remained trapped in his throat; the masters hadn't finished yet.

“All three of you will depart to Coruscant immediately,” Vittion pressed more to the point. “There, you will comb through the city and locate Rayshk. I want you to remember that he is _valuable_. His knowledge about us will, for certain, make the Republic aware of our presence.”

Sheema bowed her head. "We won't let you down, Master."

“Where do we start when we get to the city?” Kareb asked, focusing mostly on Tylo.

“Figure it out,” Tylo huffed, “that’s as much as we’re going to give you because, honestly, we don’t even know. But there is a mutual ally that could be of service to you. Her name is Avano and she’s a bounty hunter and, apparently, Rayshk's friend. I’ll contact her when you leave and let her know about the situation; she should help you.”

“Stay discreet,” Orron added cautiously. “Do not let anyone else know of your mission; the last thing you need is the rescue mission become compromised. Use your lightsabers if you must, and leave no witnesses.”

“Yes, Master,” Shadow acknowledged. He stared at Orron with such determination he was almost certain his master looked convinced that he was up for the task.

"Good," was all Orron answered with. He strode closer to his apprentice, gaze narrowed as he looked down at him. "You're leading this mission," he growled, "Don't make me regret it!" He handed over Shadow's lightsaber, and in a lower voice - one only Shadow could hear- he added, "Don't give me a reason to take this away again, _understand?_ "

Shadow latched his hilt on his belt, where it belonged. "I won't fail you, Master," he promised, "You have my undying loyalty." He bowed again in respect, conjuring up a pleased smirk on his master's lips, an approval toward his better attitude. As Shadow raised his head, his gaze fell to his peers. "Let's go," he said, "we don't need anything else here."

"My ship is already prepped for your departure," Tylo added quickly. "May the Force free you, young ones."

Acknowledging Tylo's words with a brief nod, Shadow automatically headed out of the old academy. They didn't have time to waste. Motes of dust slithered across the path to the parked shuttle, the one that Tylo spoke of before they left.

It was a small, narrow craft, with a rounded nose and thin-looking wings. Her dark paint had a shining smile beneath Korriban's low sun. The ship was efficient for swift travel and maneuvering, but obviously wouldn't stand a chance against a battle cruiser's heavy fire.

The apprentices headed up the loading ramp and straight into the cabin. Kareb went ahead, seeing that he knew his master’s ship better than anyone, and placed himself at the controls. Sheema settled herself in the co-pilot seat.

“Prepare for lift-off,” Kareb said. Adeptly, he navigated through the controls. In a couple pushed buttons, and a pull of a leaver the ship’s engine purred to life and the loading ramp raised shut. Soft tremors shuddered through the ship’s metal skeleton. The rounded viewport revealed a picturesque aspect of the sky.

Shadow sat in the spare seat behind Sheema, buckling himself in. “When we touch down on Coruscant, we contact Master Tylo to find out where we’re meeting Avano,” he said. “Then when we find her, we should start looking in the cantinas, listen to the rumors on the street.”

“And maybe we’ll find out what Rayshk did that got him captured,” Sheema scoffed. She leaned back in her seat.

The ship’s engines now howled as the metal machinery took off, catapulting into the atmosphere like a spear. In two minutes, they quickly broke past the planet’s atmosphere and into cold, black space.

For a moment, Shadow savored the moment. Regardless of the cold, he couldn’t help but think of the last time he felt the sensations space brought. That moment only came to him when he remembered the first time he arrived on Korriban, him being that reluctant eight-year-old apprentice who was filled with a lot of hate, and guilt.

He closed his eyes, and suddenly his ears drowned beneath the mystery woman's clipped shrill. He flinched, eyes flashing open, and he focused his attention outside the viewport. This couldn't be happening, not now!

"Prepare for hyperspace," Kareb warned.

Shadow watched the outside stars morph into long stripes of silver and blue, and pressed back into his seat as the ship exploded into deep space. Now he could leave behind home, and that annoying voice that plagued him, and focus on the task at hand.

 

**< >    <>    <>**

**T** ylo's translucent figure flickered to live on the ship's communication platform as the communications relay warmed up. Once the master's full blue image remained undisturbed by static, he went right down to business.

“I’ve contacted Avano,” he said, “and she’s now aware of the situation. Beware, apprentices, she’s a slippery one. She showed great reluctance to aid you in your mission, so stay aware of her. She’s promised to meet you at the Dealer’s den. From there, you’ll figure out what to do.”

“Any idea what she looks like, Master?” Kareb asked.

Tylo only scoffed, and said, “You’ll know when you see her,” and his image vanished from sight.

While Tylo had been talking, Sheema was quietly scanning over the holoscreen beside her seat. "The Dealer's Den is not too far from here," she mused. "It's five minutes in walking distance." She unbuckled herself from her seat and stood up.

Shadow was already up and walking to the cargo hold, and accessed the cabin's small closet in the back. The thin door slid open and revealed three dark cloaks, hanging and waiting for use. "Put these on," he instructed, tossing them each a cloak before slipping on the last one.

Outside, they could see Corusant no doubt in its finest hour: the city lights flickered to life as the sun melted behind the horizon, exiting with a beautiful vermillion tint in the sky that set the tone for a late evening picture of the city's massive skyscrapers. Thankfully, the approaching night would help keep blend much easier into the crowd.

Following the route Sheema pointed out in the ship earlier, they easily navigated away from the landing pad and merged into Coruscant's bustling streets. The Galactic Market seemed alive despite it being in the late evening; a majority of shops were closed up for the night. But the nightly citizens no doubt had desires to visit the nearby cantinas to decompress from a long day.

Being around so many made Shadow feel claustrophobic; he'd grown so use to the open space on Korriban - and the fresh air - but right now he felt trapped in a small box and choked on cheap, overpowering perfume and body odor.

“There it is.” Kareb jerked his chin over to the small cantina nestled in a tight corner. Jutting out of the wall beside its main door was a vertical signboard with, “THE DEALER’S DEN,” written in bright neon letters on the surface. Definitely wasn’t too difficult to find, but just from the looks of it, the place was stuffed to the brim with patrons.

“Come on—!” Before any of them knew it, Sheema took their hands and led them straight for the entrance. That was her, being bold to squeeze their way into a tight crowd. Luckily, they managed to slip their way inside. Mostly because the drunken patrons couldn’t help but notice Sheema’s looks regardless of the dark clothing that covered her.

Shadow’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell of alcohol and sweat, a combination that didn’t seem fitting together, but he suppressed the urge to shove his way back out. He just got this far. It took a little to adjust, is all.

Conversations overlapped into senseless noise, unnecessary hooting and howling banter. A diverse of species dwelled in the room, all different except for the goal to enjoy the pleasing bitter taste of good ale and company, regardless of how rowdy it seemed. An open space in the cantina opened up and the three apprentices paused there to take a breath.

“Any clue where to start?” Kareb asked, involuntarily raising his voice.

“Avano is a bounty hunter,” Shadow mused. “We can start by looking at the possible females who’s looking very…bounty hunter- _ish_.”

Sheema rubbed her thumb beneath her chin in thought as her eyes scrutinized the place. “Hmm…that narrows it down to…. _every_ female in this shithole—” she raised her eyebrow, unamused, as she glanced sarcastically in Shadow’s direction. “Try to narrow it down some more?”

A drunken patron - scratching his raggedy beige tunic -straggled into Shadow before he could reply. His hands shoved the man aside without a second thought.

"Wha' tha fuck?" The patron tried to raise his voice aggressively, but his words only slurred out louder. His posture straightened, matching Shadow's tall height, and rolled up his sleeves. The fair-haired drunkared curled his lip and shoved back— "Git outta mah way!" 

Shadow barely budged. "You don't wanna do that," he warned. His eyes flitted between Kareb and Sheema, wordlessly telling them to stand down.

"Dun wonna what? _This?_ " The drunkard shoved again with more oomph, sending Shadow stumbling back into a passing patron. He chortled, hurling himself at the apprentice without a second thought. He swung a reckless fist at his face.

Shadow ducked and darted his own fist straight for the drunkard's exposed rids. Two swift hits sent the man reeling backwards. He advanced on the intoxicated man and swung again: his fist slammed into the man's gut, making him hunch forward, then knocked into the bridge of his nose.

The drunkard involuntarily threw his hands up. Shadow grabbed the man's shoulders and pulled him in, thrusting his knee repeatedly into his flank until he heard the bones satisfying _craaackk!_ By then, all conversation ceased. And, as if on cue, Shadow let the drunkard slump down into a sobbing mess.

All eyes remained locked, startled, on him.

"Hey, bastard," the bartender spat, "take that shit outside! The last thing I need is someone fucking up my bar again. First offense, you get a warning. Second offense, you're out - ya hear?"

Shadow tilted his eyes over his shoulder, giving the bartender a curt nod, and the conversation gradually resumed once more. Coolly, he stepped around the weeping drunkard and continued his search.

"My, my— you sure know how to make a grown man cry," someone hummed behind them.

The three apprentices whipped around, eyes meeting a woman’s sly smile. She was slender, curves defined by the metal armor she wore. Eyes devious brown, and short, fair-colored hair falling perfectly around the contours of her heart-shaped face, she looked like nothing but trouble.

“Avano,” Shadow surmised.

She grinned. “You know my name, now I think its common courtesy that I know _yours_.”

"I'm Shadow," he answered nonchalantly. "This is Kareb and Sheema—" he jerked his thumb as he introduced the two of them.

“Thanks for proving you’re not a jackass,” Avano laughed. For a moment, she looked over him ravishingly. "Tylo mentioned you'd be young. I also assumed tall, dark, and gruesome but not...handome. I guess you Sith do have your looks, too, I guess."

"Shut up, loud mouth," Sheema snapped. Involuntarily, Kareb grabbed her fore-arm to keep her back.

"Touchy girlfriend you got there, Shadow," Avano noted as she smirked at Sheema. "But as much as I'd like to keep flirting, there's a mutual friend we've got to find." She pivoted around, waving for them to follow, and shouldered her way through the patrons and approached the table she'd been occupying before the first entered the cantina.

She sat down, and the three apprentices took the seats across from her. Quietly, Avano studied them for a moment, and then chuckled dryly. “Tell me, does your wardrobe have nothing but black?”

“Focus,” Shadow grumbled, “we need to find Rayshk before the Republic moves him.”

“Right down to business, I see,” she sighed. “Totally sucks the life out of everything, doesn’t he?” She kicked her heels up on the table and leaned back her seat, eyes wandering aimlessly. "Rayshk's a dumbass, you know? Complete fuck for getting caught! I honestly don't know what shit goes on his that brain of his—"

"Do you have any clue where he is?" Sheema interrupted.

With a raised eyebrow, Avano glanced at Shadow, laughing, "Fuck, she's perfect for you."

“ _Answer her_.” Kareb ‘s voice was low, growling with impatience, which knocked Avano’s laid-back, happy-go-lucky attitude clean off her face, but her sarcasm still lingered.

“He's your pet, right? Definitely young running with this crowd,” Avano huffed. She rolled her eyes as she lifted her heels off the table and straightened in her seat. She leaned closer to them. “Rumor has it that the Republic doesn’t know who he is… _yet_. They’re assuming he’s some kind of agent working with Count Dooku, so it’s safe to assume that he hasn’t spilled your little secret.”

“That doesn’t tell us shit,” Sheema growled.

“Shhhh, She-shit, er— _whatever_   your name is—” Avano hushed “—did I say I was done? What I’m trying to say is: we’ve got some time to sort this shit out. There is a reason why I set up our meet here. I’m a regular here, and know a fair chunk of regulars. Among those are some clone troopers that come here for a drink after their shift.”

Now this pleased their ears.

Avano grinned once she knew she had their full attention. Her eyes momentarily drifted to the cantina’s entryway. “Oh, look, here they come now—”

All three apprentices casually looked where she stared, noting the three identical men — dressed in civilian garb — who entered and headed straight for the bar counter. They sat down, laughing amongst themselves, and quietly ordered their drinks.

“What do we do? Jump them on their way out, interrogate them, and then kill them?” Sheema asked.

“…You’re joking, right?” Avano’s dry amusement instantly vanished. “Do your masters even let you see the fucking sun? You attack them – or even kill them – it sets off a red flag to the rest of their platoon. That makes it _harder_ for us to find Rayshk.”

“It was just a suggestion,” Sheema argued. “Do you have a better idea?”

“ _Enough!_ ” Shadow was fed up with their bantering; it only made the throbbing in his head worse. He couldn't focus. Both of them fell quiet, looking at him with intent eyes. "Give me a second," he finally said as he stood up. "I need some air." And he walked away from the table before anything could resume.

This place was overwhelming, filled with overlapping noise that did nothing for the migraine gnawing at his strength. Shadow shouldered his way outside, and sidestepped out of the walkway once he passed the threshold. He massaged the back of his neck to ease the sharp pangs, but it was a fruitless effort. So he took a deep breath and reached out to the Force.

It calmed him — flowing through his veins, strengthening his muscles, and numbing his head's irritating ache. He aligned himself with the Force, and listened. It wasn't unheard of that the Force could augment hearing; Shadow tried it more than once during his master's Force exercises. He had a natural predatory instinct, the talent of a tracker.

The overlapping conversations grew distinguished, and soon he could hear clear conversations but not the one he desired. Shadow focused, specifically around the bar counter, until he heard gruff voices complaining about a long day's work.

“That new prisoner’s a strange one,” a dry voice mused.

Shadow’s heart leaped with success.

“I hear the Jedi is still trying to crack him,” another piped up. “He’s been in that interrogation room for days, and smells disgusting. I lose my appetite when I’m in the room with him – and I’m giving him his food! Talk about fucking disgusting!”

“I say the Jedi are wasting their time,” a third grunted. “He’s not gonna explain anything, that lightsaber, attempting to kill the senator, nothing!”

“Did you hear about the bounty on Senator Lanrax’s head?” The first voice was speaking again. “The Jedi better crack him soon to know who ordered that bounty.”

“Heh, hopefully,” the third trooper mused.

The three conversationalists paused, no doubt slowly sipping their ale, before they resumed their topic of interest: "I hear he's going to the new detention facility tomorrow," the first voice continued. "I bet that's good news for you, Bridge."

The second voice let out a pleasing chuckle. “Thank goodness!” he exclaimed. “Now others can deal with his odor.”

“I wouldn’t sound so pleased,” the third laughed again. “He’s still on Coruscant, and I hear they’re shuffling our brothers around to fill in the positions at the new facility.”

The second voice’s excitement died down with, “Aww, _fuck_.”

Shadow grinned and opened his eyes. He didn't have a moment to lose. Quickly, he returned to the table where the heated tension between Sheema and Avano, which had resumed since he stepped outside.

"I'm just saying—" Avano objected with a fist on the table "—I could come up with smarter ideas than the ones you're suggesting, Princess." Her face looked white-hot with rage.

Kareb silently rubbed his temples, completely at the end of his rope. But when he saw Shadow approaching, relief flooded over his face with a, "Thank god you're here," look.

"We need to return to the ship," Shadow interrupted. "I know where Rayshk's being held."

The three looked at him eagerly, waiting for an explanation.

"Look, we don't have much time; they're moving Rayshk to a new local facility tomorrow, and we need to know where that is," Shadow pressed. "Come on, let's get a move on!" A sense of urgency picked up in his tone.

The three stood up from the table.

"Does _she_ have to come too?" Sheema demanded, shooting an angry glance at Avano.

“Yes,” Shadow answered, reluctantly. “We need all the help we can get.”

Avano grinned with satisfaction. “You’ll have to deal with me a little longer, girlie.”

Sheema only huffed, not bothering to wait for anyone, and shoved her way out of the Dealer's Den. Everyone else followed and kept a reasonable distance from her to let her cool down. The last thing Shadow needed was losing their only ally, and he was convinced they needed as many able bodies as they could for this rescue.

Once again, the throbbing in his head returned, and Shadow knew nothing could shake it away. He'd just have to deal with that, and hope that nothing would keep him from focusing on the task at hand.

 


	4. Chapter 3 - Prison Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rayshk's moved to a new prison, and the others devise a plan to rescue him. Avano tries to get some luck before the mission but isn't gratified. And the mission takes a sudden, unexpected turn.

**_T_** _wo days_ — Rayshk counted in his head – _two days since I got stuck in this shithole._

His eyes fluttered groggily, vision bleary as he struggled to look over his small, apportioned holding cell. The latest sedatives they dosed him with left him disoriented, left him with the inability to fully access his own mind, let alone the Force itself. But thankfully through the Force, the effects of the drugs started to negate.

He currently lived in a claustraophobic's worst nightmare. It was him, a steel table, and two chairs crammed in a narrow rectangular room. No room to pace, no room to actually breathe, this place could luckily squeeze three bodies in at a time. Did they put him in there to feel intimidated? See if they could weasel out whatever information he had? Make him feel as if the world was closing in? Whatever method they used, they were far from breaking him.

And what separated him from the rest of the world was the transparent energy field that buzzed endlessly, unless powered down. Pros and cons, he mused, for containment fields. The cons being that it barred him from escape, and the pros being that he could see who came to visit; his holding cell had the view of the turbolift.

Lucky for him, today he had visitors (his regulars since he first arrived).

The turbolift door revolved open and his two stoic visitors stepped off into the hallway, taking their sweet time approaching his cell. By the time they reached him, he already saw that they were wearing the exact clothes as yesterday. He chortled inwardly, and wondered if they only had one outfit they wore every single day.

His visitors eyed him wearily, as if uncertain whether to step inside. Rayshk lifted his bound wrists and waved zealously, a feeble smirk cracking across his face as he met their gaze. "Ah," his voice dragged, throat as moist as a desert, "my two favorite Jedi! Is this an actual visit? Or more questions?"

The Jedi – a master and a Togruta Padawan – didn't reply. Instead, they only exchanged glances before they finally powered down the energy field. The master, a tall gentleman with fair-hair and beard, took the empty chair in front of Rayshk. His cool blue eyes stared at the prisoner – compassion and humility clear in their depths – and studied him.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” the master said. “And you’re in a talkative mood—”

“Do you wear the same fucking outfit every day?”

“Hey!” the Padawan snapped, perhaps out of turn. “ _We’re_ asking the questions—”

“Ahsoka,” the master sighed. He glanced over his shoulder at her, as if giving a silent warning, and returned his attention to Rayshk. “Since you’re so curious about me, I'll humor you—” he leaned forward “—no, I don’t wear the same robes every day. Now, I answered your question, so will you answer mine?”

“Answers,” Rayshk scoffed, “is something you’ll never get out of me. Unless…you’re asking the right questions—” he ended abruptly, quirking an eyebrow and leering toward the Padawan who was identified as, “Ahsoka,” and watched her scoff and look away in disgust.

In that time, the Jedi master had placed something on the table with a soft thud.

Rayshk’s eyes immediately dropped down to his lightsaber hilt and he smiled. “You’re asking what this is?” he chortled. “Well, that’s a lightsaber, sir. You have one too—”

“Where did you get it?”

“Pfft. I didn’t ‘get it’ anywhere.”

“Are you saying you made it?”

“What do you think?”

Rayshk grinned devilishly as the Jedi master sat back in his chair to ponder this given information. Out of boldness – no doubt arrogance – he didn’t mind declaring his prides, especially when it came to his personal weapon. He impressed his master with its design, and the specified focus crystals he chose for his own particular liking.

And then, suddenly, the subject shifted. "Why did you attack Senator Lanrax?"

Rayshk grinned widely. "For the credits, that's what," he replied. "Don't you know about the bounty that's on that man's head? And it specifically said _dead,_ not alive."

"Who hired you? Do you know who placed the bounty?" the Jedi prompted.

"I don't work for no one - and I don't know the clever man who placed that high bounty."

“Master Kenobi,” the Padawan piped up softly.

“Can’t you see we’re talking, _youngling_ ,” Rayshk jeered.

She bit back a remark, trying to ignore him but irritation kept her slender figure rigid as she spoke to the Jedi master. The title “Master,” was replaced in Rayshk’s mind with “General,” and then he understood why this man felt, in an odd way, familiar since they first met: Obi-wan Kenobi was well reputed especially as a Jedi Master, voice the calm in the storm he overheard someone say once.

“What is it, Ahsoka?” Obi-wan replied.

“It’s time to go.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk—” Rayshk shook his head “—sad to see you leave so soon. Visiting hours can’t be over now.” He feigned sadness as he looked at Ahsoka. “I’m sure you feel the same way.”

“Not…really…” Ahsoka trailed off as she and Obi-wan stepped outside the cell, but didn’t bother to activate the energy field that kept him contained. Instead, two clone troopers strode in and seized him by the arms. “You’re going to a new facility.”

“You shitting me?” he hissed. He jerked in the guards’ grasp but they kept an iron grip on him. That surprised him, and made him realize he was weaker than he originally thought. “You can’t move me to a new facility!” But after a second, he quickly reconsidered his first outburst: “Okay, well, can my cell be fuckin’ bigger than this—”

A clone trooper slapped him upside the head, “That’s _enough!_ ”

“Good to see I’m not the only having a problem tolerating you,” Ahsoka grumbled before she stepped aside with Obi-wan and allowed them passage.

Rayshk continued thrashing as they dragged him out into the hallway. “My cell better be fucking bigger!” he howled, mostly to the guards attached to his arms since they would be the one ones who listened. “Bigger cell, okay?”

“What you _need_ is a fucking shower,” a clone trooper growled as they entered the turbolift. “You smell Bantha shit.”

They turned around to face the hallway, giving Rayshk a chance to look at the Jedi one final time before the door revolved shut. On impulse, he blurted a thought that crossed his mind: "Will they still visit?"

**< >    <>    <>**

“It’s a small prison, two levels: the ground level, and the lower level where they hold the prisoners. But that’s a lot of ground to cover…and it looks like the only access to the holding cells is through the main turbolift…”

Avano finished explaining their options after she studied what she could off the blueprints she pulled up on the ship’s computers. When she concluded, she didn't sound convinced Rayshk's rescue was going to be a walk in the park. Shadow, on the other hand, was well aware of the difficulty, but was eager to face the challenge.

“This facility is to isolate certain prisoners,” Kareb noted, his eyes scrutinizing the computerized blueprint, "perhaps more Separatist-oriented to gain helpful information for their pointless war."

“And Rayshk is their test subject,” Sheema grumbled bitterly.

“What kind of security do they have?” Shadow asked. “Any loop holes we can slip through to get to that turbolift?” He leaned closer to Avano, leaning over her shoulder for a better look at the screen.

His hip must have brushed against her shoulder because she paused in her search, giving him a sideways glance. Her eyes roamed up and down his figure, contimplating something that slipped an unfamiliar gleam in her gaze, before she mumbled, "As much as I _love_ this - an' you're hot an' all - but do you... _mind?_ " She pressed her palm softly against his chest and inched him back a little bit.

"Sorry," Shadow apologized curtly. He straightened his back, folding his hands behind his back, and waited for her to resume her search. He ignored the warmth fluttering around the skin of his chest.

Now comfortable, Avano resumed her search. How she managed to pull everything up was beyond him, but he didn’t question her methods seeing that this was very useful to their mission. After all, she was a bounty hunter; she found a way to her targets somehow.

“A platoon’s stationed there, roughly about eighty troopers, give or take,” Avano answered quickly. “They’ve got security cameras, guards posted at all entry points…posted at certain doors in the facility. And there’s probably more swarming in the lower level. I can’t be sure because I don’t have a direct video feed to see…”

“We’ll have to figure some way around them, then,” Kareb sighed. “Full frontal assault?” Sarcasm lined his suggestion as he feigned a face of innocence. And then, he tilted his head toward Avano. “Only answered on question,” he grumbled. “Are there any loop holes?” he repeated.

Avano’s fingers clacked on the keyboard and the computerized blueprints spun on the screen. Certain points on the plans grew big, then small again, zooming at possible points of entry they could use. She didn’t answer the question for another two minutes, still searching.

“We need a plan,” Sheema sighed. She glanced Shadow’s ways, hoping he had the answer.

He raised his hand to ease her high hopes. “Give her a second; let’s see where this loop hole is.”

The computer beeped and their attention returned to the screen. The back of the facility on the blueprints was blown up to full view, revealing what looked like extremely narrow hallways intricately stretching in all directions.

“The ventilation system,” Avano declared, “we can access one from the back.” She leaned back in her chair with a bright smile, bathing in her success. “We could get to the security room there and take a look at the footage since one vent leads us straight there.”

“Great!” Shadow grinned as he tipped his head over to their newfound ally. _Guess she’s not as incompetent as I first pinned her out as_ , he thought. Dwelling on this information, his mind devised a plan. It’d be fairly simple getting in, but getting out might be a little problematic. Before he knew it, all eyes in the cockpit were on him.

“What’re you thinkin’?” Kareb folded his arms across his chest, eager to know what went on in his siblings head.

“We get into the security room through the vents,” Shadow answered. “One of us will stay and commandeer the room, watch what’s going on with the guards from the cameras. From there, that person will navigate us through the facility to Rayshk.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Sheema cracked her knuckles eagerly. “When should we go?”

“Tomorrow night,” Shadow replied. “By then, he’ll settle and they won’t suspect a thing when it’s dark. We have the element of surprise. For now, we rest.” And no one objected to the idea of sleep.

Sheema and Kareb both selfishly claimed the cockpit, leaving the uncomfortable bunks in the small cargo hold for Shadow and Avano. In silence, as tomorrow night’s plan simmered in their minds, they dispersed to get ready for some shut eye.

Shadow didn't realize how exhausted they were, never realized how exhausted _he_ was, until Sheema and Kareb made their comfortable floor cushion out of the spare blankets and went straight to sleep.

Before he went to sleep himself, however, he squeezed into the ship's small washroom.

He yanked off his shirt looked at the crusty red bandage coiled around his torso. Shadow rummaged through the cupboards and found fresh bandages. Out with the old, in with the new, he dressed his wound in silence. His thoughts went all over the place, considering all sorts of possibilities of the outcome between him and his master. Praise was the first, pride would come second, and trust would no doubt follow suit. And through this, his destiny would no doubt be set in stone; he’d make Orron proud!

A soft knock rattled the door and he opened it. Without warning, Avano squeezed into the space with him. The door shut behind her, trapping him inside. “Wha-what are you _doing_ here?” Shadow hissed angrily as the arch of his back pressed up against the refresher’s marble bowel. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” she whispered with a coy smile.

His pulse thundered irregularly. Something ached in his muscles, in his bones, beneath his trousers. He vainly searched her inscrutable face, trying to gain an inkling of what she wanted, but his mind already knew what it was. He struggled for a response. "I...I...—"

A finger touched his lips and hushed him. “Don’t overthink,” she sighed.

Her hands slid up his bandaged chest, smoothing up his neck and tangling in his dark hair. His mind shut down, leaving his body unable to properly operate. As her lips grazed along his jaw line, his face twisted in a grimace. He was so muddled he ended up asking the same question as before. "Wh...what are you doing?" Warmth flared throughout his body, and he could already see warning lights flashing in his brain.

“Getting some good luck—” Her lips pressed against his and he froze, uncertainty rendering him numb and helpless. But the softness her kiss provided acted like a cushion, and he found himself sinking into a pit of uncharted emotions; he became lost.

Before he knew it, he was kissing her back. Experimentation, no less, but something within his body craved for it — craved for this. The longing for someone to touch him had been trapped beneath his hardened shell, only to be freed by this moment — when his fingers traced his skin, when her body roughly pressed against his; when his lips first touched his.

Regardless of what he thought of her, he found his arms surrounding her, pulling her closer as humanly as possible but it still wasn't enough. The kiss deepened, rougher and tasting like stale ale. Her hands slipped down, away from his neck, past his bandaged torso, and for the elastic loop of his pants. Her lips distracted him, her finger tips left tingly sensations crawling where she touched, but when she reached lower, Shadow fell apart and he jerked away.

“ _Stop!_ ” the growl shattered the lustful ambiance in an instant as his hand darted down and caught her wrists before she touched him anymore. “I don’t even know you….I don’t need this right now.” Shadow let her go and reached for the door, shoving it open. “ _Out!_ ” he snapped.

“Real fucking prince charming,” she grumbled as she reluctantly stepped out. She mumbled something inaudible as she walked away, leaving him struggling to catch his breath.

Shadow whirled around to the hanging mirror above the refresher, eyeing the deep red color in his cheeks and the sweat starting to bead over his forehead. That felt strange, and in a way frightened him, but he wasn’t unaware of what just occurred; he knew Orron and Vittion hit it on and off every now and then, but never did he think it was something he’d feel himself.

He splashed cold water on his face, ridding the odd feelings and letting them slip back where they came from. The longing to be touch followed suit. He yanked his shirt back on and returned to the bunks where Avano was already settled in and – to his guess – fast asleep.

Shadow lay down on the bunk near hers, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. _Tomorrow’s going to go well_ , he told himself. _Regardless of what just happened_. With that in mind, he closed his eyes and let himself sink into a mind infected with night terrors.

It was late in the evening when Shadow jolted awake, his sides heaving and his heart racing abnormally in his chest. He stared up in a daze, confused for a moment, and then everything he dreamed came back to him. This time, he saw _her_. The screaming woman.

The first part of the dream was calm, mostly because he just saw her. She was a beautiful face graced with the sanded curves over a sculpture. Her hair was dark, stained blacker than night itself, and her eyes contrasted with her curls; they were the color of the greenest pastures bathing in the warm sun. Her skin was a soft cream, and glowed with an unconditional love. She wore a drab gray tunic, aged and slightly smeared with muck, but it couldn't subtract her angelic attributes. Nothing ever could.

And after taking in her looks, there was something disturbingly familiar about her. But he couldn't put a name to a face. It surprised him that he couldn't remember that face.

And as the dream quickly melted into a violent, heart-thrashing nightmare. That beautiful face was in agony, drowning in sadness and other emotions Shadow couldn't quiet name individually; everything was meshed together. Flames chased her, smoke smothered her, and through everything he remained riveted in the same spot since the beginning. He couldn't do anything.

Not even in her final moments when death finally sank into her body, driving all the warmth and life that once filled it. Even then, her body remained beautiful even in death, and that was an image he could never shove out of his mind.

Sheema found him upright and told him it was time. He briefly combed his mussed hair, for the first time in a long time disgusted by the grease clinging to the dark wisps of hair. When he stood up and emerged into the cockpit, awkwardness settled in. That, and also a bitterness that tumbled out of Avano in palpable waves.

“Let’s go,” Shadow grunted, and in grim silence he watched as Kareb and Sheema lord the ship’s controls. It only took a few minutes until they arrived a good several meters from the facility and hid their ship. And it only took seconds after for them to disembark and proceed to the prison.

The sun already died behind the horizon to let the moon breathe, letting the dim light illuminate their route. From the looks of things, the prison was just undergoing finishing touches. Small cargo boxes were stacked around the place, and watched over by the two guards patrolling the premises. The four ducked into the bushes, avoiding the glance of two guards posted at the prison’s front.

“Could you move any faster?” Avano hissed at Shadow. “I’m tired of looking at your ass!”

He refrained from a retort and continued on. When they finally neared the back, the bushes rustled softly as they stepped out. Soundlessly they crept closer to the vent, and came to a surprise waiting for them.

Sheema was the first to comment: “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

The grate was only big enough for one person.

“Sheema,” Shadow mused. “Today’s your lucky day.”

Kareb and Shadow laughed softly together, knowing very well how Sheema _loved_ tight spaces. Lucky for her, she was the only one out of all of them who could fit inside.

Sheema glared at him. "Fuck you," she grumbled before she backed up. She drew in a deep, calming breath. She raised a hand, reaching with the Force toward the grate. With a flick of her wrist, the grate ripped out of the wall and she sprinted as if on cue. The Force helped her move faster than any natural being. Timing it right, she leaped, dived forward, and disappeared prone on her belly into the dark tunnel.

“Now what?” grunted Avano.

“ _Now, you tell me which way is the security room_ ,” Sheema hissed through the comms.

As Avano reluctant explained to her where to go, Shadow and Kareb shuffled aside. “What’s your plan with the guards?” Kareb asked. He remained silent as his brother quietly pondered the idea.

“Knock ‘em out before they alert the others,” Shadow suggested, seeing there was no other way they could slip past the guards. Once Avano’s voice quieted, he added quickly, “I want you in the security room.”

Kareb’s jaw dropped. “You kidding me?” he questioned, his way to protest. But then he gave a side glance toward Avano and understood. His next words came out reluctantly: “…Alright. I guess I’ll stay, seeing that I know what I’m doing in there.”

“I don’t underestimate your skills,” Shadow assured him. “I’m confident in them, which is why you need to remain in the security room.” He knew his words weren’t vain as Kareb’s face lit up with pride.

“I won’t let you down,” he promised.

“ _Alright, guys, I’m in_ ,” cut in Sheema’s voice through their ear comms. Silently and swiftly they proceeded toward the front part of the prison. They kept close to the shadows, behind crates to elude the  walking patrolmen. When they came closer to the front, they peered around the corner at the two guards posted by the door who carried a casual conversation.

“What should we expect?” Shadow hissed in his comms.

“ _The main hall’s deserted_ ,” Sheema replied, almost in surprise. “ _Hold on._ ” For a moment, silence, and then: “ _Yep. The guard’s already made his round but you better hurry. He’s on the route back._ ”

 _That’s our cue._ Shadow jerked his chin, gesturing Kareb to follow. Together, the brothers stalked around the corner, crouched like predators nearing their target. They reached for their lightsabers just in case. Taking a deep breath, Shadow called on the Force, letting it flow through his body and making himself a willing marionette to the dark side.

He reached out and clenched both their throats throats in a strong telekinetic choke hold. Both gagged, struggled for speech, as their hands abandoned their blasters and vainly fumbled at their necks. Shadow took a breath and closed both hands. Their bodies bunched up and their heads twitched to the side as their neck unnaturally cracked.

Shadow released his grip and they dropped like dead weights. “Go!”

The three raced for the door, quickly fumbling for the guard’s key card. Kareb found the plastic key and swiped it in the vertical card reader beside the door. The light flickered from red to green and the massive door slid open with a hiss of air.

“The guard’s coming back to the turbolift,” Sheema warned.

Shadow didn’t care at this point. He unhitched his lightsaber from his belt and quietly sprinted across the smooth hallway. He ducked behind the corner that lead into the perpendicular wall and waited. The guard, helmetless, casually whistled as he neared to finish of another lap. The threat he neared crouched low to the ground.

The trooper passed the corner, and as he did his normal glance down the main corridor he was too late. In a snap a flash of red flooded his vision and warmth slid through his neck. The guard’s body collapsed to the ground, his head rolling freely.

“Sheema, where are you?” Shadow demanded.

The door to their left slid open and she popped her head out as if on cue. She smiled widely, “Here,” and stepped back inside the room. They didn’t bother with the decapitated guard; blood started pooling the new tile. Shadow estinquished his blade and all three of them stepped into the small security room.

The chairs were occupied by headless men that Sheema didn’t mind taking out messily. As long as they stayed out of the way, there was no problem. Once every was inside, they closed the door and momentarily glanced over the screens playing live footage.

“Kareb’s staying here to be our lookout,” Shadow explained. “Sheema and Avano are coming with me to the lower level.” Avano scoffed but he ignored her as he continued, “Do we know where Rayshk is exactly?”

“Oh—his old charming self in that cell,” Avano commented dryly. She pointed at the screen closest to her hip and all their attention drifted down to the gray screen. There, they saw Rayshk – leaned leisurely back in a chair with his bound hands raised – talking to a slender Togruta. And judging from the two hilts dangling from her hips, she was a Jedi.

“Shit,” Shadow whispered. He honestly wished they hadn’t showed up, but in all fairness he considered it a perfect opportunity. Tell his master he killed a Jedi? Perhaps he’d make amends for all the misgivings he pulled his master through. At the thought, he grinned devilishly. “What cell is that?”

Kareb leaned over the controls and did his computer thing. “That’s cell 101,” he answered. “When you get off the turbolift, you head down the hall it opens up to. Take a right, then a left – pass through some kind of detention center – and take another left. Follow that hall down into a room which should lead to the cell.”

“Fuck, talk about elaborate,” Sheema grumbled.

“You better get moving,” Kareb mused, looking up at another screen. “Our presence is about to be known.” Everyone glanced at the screen he was completely engrossed by, seeing the two patrolling clone troopers outside discovering their fallen brethren.

“Let’s go!” Shadow abruptly turned and exited the room, trusting his brother would fare well on his own. Sheema and Avano flanked closely behind him. When they entered the turbolift, the main doors to the hall started to open. It had begun.

In a few short seconds the lift brought them down to the second level. The doors slid open and quickly they sprinted down the hall, eyes peeled for anything that would alert their presence faster than it already did. Shadow repeated his brother’s instructions in his head: _Take a right._

He rounded the corner into another empty hallway; he didn’t slow his pace. _Then a left_ — he skidded around another corner and stared at a mass of clone troopers gathered like a tumor in the corridor. From a quick head count, he estimated about ten, maybe twenty, troopers were gathered in that all.

They’d been alerted of their presence.

“There they are!” one shouted, and in unison they raised their blasters.

“There, in his hand!” another growled, drawing the attention to the lightsaber hilt in Shadow’s hand. By then, they didn’t hesitate; they opened fire.

He and Sheema’s lightsabers sprang to life in an instant, deflecting the rain of bolts flying toward them. Avano ducked back around the corner and yanked her blaster pistol out of its holster. She peered around as the blasting began to subside a little and offered shots of her own.

Shadow’s body trembled with delight, but no one could tell as he rushed forward. His blade swiftly cut into whatever plastic armor it could, left white-hot burns across their chests, helmets, arms— _anything!_ Their screams, their shouts, and the frantic pounding of their boots brought him to a thrilling high. Beside him he could tell Sheema also shared his thrills. Her smile shone as bright as her lightsaber as she slashed and hacked to her hearts content.

In the time span of a minute they managed to shave the mass down to two. They got rid of the only a small portion of the cancer, and had more tumors to eradicate. The three sprinted down the corridor, Shadow in the lead still repeating his brother’s instructions in his head. The farther they went, the narrower the hallway got.

Gradually, they slowed, making their way into the brightly detention center Kareb told them about. Shadow blinked as he entered the main chamber, looking down each corridor that led to many, many other empty cells. He didn’t have a clue where to go; Kareb didn’t exactly warn them about the other corridors. Instead of asking, he had to trust his gut.

“ _Guys, you need to move_ ,” Kareb’s voice hissed in, breathless, “ _all troops are converging on your location._ ”

“You okay?” Shadow asked.

“ _Fine,_ ” he panted. “ _They just caught me by surprise._ ” He laughed dryly before he added quickly, “ _You need to get Rayshk out now._ ”

Shadow took in a deep breath and listened, listened harder than he ever did in his life. Everything grew muffled as he focused, striving for a specific voice that he didn’t know what it sounded like. The clone trooper’s boots sounded like muffled thunder, the snicks of their arming blasters set to kill.

And then he heard it, a sly voice that carried a large amount of mockery. He then knew where to go. He gestured to the corridor in front of him. “This way,” he shouted.

“You go,” Sheema urged. “We’ll stay and keep the exit route clean,” she replied. Abruptly, she hissed through the comms: “Kareb, get your ass down here!”

Shadow didn’t wait for anything else. Knowing they could keep their exit clear, he sprinted down the corridor until their voices faded from his hearing. Once again, he ran through his brother’s instructions: he took another left and wandered into a large, empty room. His footsteps sounded hollow as they strode calmly over the loose grate flooring.

Everything felt oddly quiet.

His eyes searched for Rayshk, searched for that Jedi, but nothing came to him. He pushed through the door on the other side, and found himself staring face-to-face with Rayshk through a massive violet energy field buzzing between them.

They gawked at each other for a moment, and then finally Rayshk said: “They got me a bigger cell.” He straightened in his chair and gestured his bound wrists to the control panel beside the door. “Aren’t you gonna open it?”

Shadow turned and slashed the panel with his lightsaber and the containment field powered down with a soft hum. Rayshk stood from his seat, taking in a deep breath before he wrinkled his nose. “Not free yet,” he grumbled. He approached Shadow with his wrists extended. “Do the honors?”

Wordlessly, he cut the bounds off the older man’s wrist.

“Did Orron ever teach you _words?_ ” Rayshk shouldered past him to a compartment drawer embedded in the wall. It slid open and he pulled out his lightsaber hilt from inside. “Damn fucks are gonna regret taunting me like that,” he laughed.

“Come on, our group is waiting,” Shadow grumbled.

“Ah, the boy can speak.” Rayshk clapped enthusiastically before he walked through the door and into the empty room. “We better hurry, that Padawan left to go check what’s going on. She might come back sometime soon—” he broke off, staring straight at the other door.

Shadow gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes at the Padawan that blocked their exit. She had both lightsabers in her hand – one short than the other – and their similar green blades glowed like the eagerness in her eyes. She looked about his age, maybe a year younger, and it felt like she matched his youthful determination.

“You’re not going anywhere, sleazebag,” she said.

Rayshk only laughed, and took a step aside to let Shadow step forward. “My, my, child, I’m going _everywhere_ when I get out.” His gaze narrowed over at Shadow, a silent order for him to deal with this. At first, Shadow didn’t want to take orders from him; the man didn’t have true authority over him unlike Orron. But the thought of challenging another Force-wielder other than his master, and everyone else he was familiar with, sent pleasurable chills down his spin.

Shadow stalked forward, raising his single lightsaber to hoover diagonally across his chest, a defense posture that would give him a moment to quickly study his opponent. Then suddenly, he charged forward, dropping down, sliding, and swiping at her knees. She leaped up and over him in a smooth suspended roll. The Padawan landed square on her feet just as he got on his and twisted around, slashing at his chest.

He leaned back as the tip swept by. He crouched down and barreled into her. She tumbled off her feet, back slamming into the ground. The impact jarred on her lightsabers from her hand. Shadow wrestled up her torso, his own lightsaber raised to strike down. Her now freehand grabbed his wrist and held him back, giving her time to swipe at him with her other lightsaber.

Shadow’s freehand pinned her wrist to the ground before she could. She struggled beneath him, vainly at first, until finally her knee jabbed up into his groin. A grimace twisted over his face and his grip on her wrist loosened. She freed her hand; punching his temple and jamming her knee into his flank, he rolled off her completely.

He forced himself to focus as he rolled back on his feet. Without must pause they stepped toward each other, their lightsabers fencing it out in a vicious dance. She continued pressing as the aggressor, swinging and leaping with ease, occasionally catching him with a kick or punch.

Shadow staggered, rolled, and ducked, becoming elusive of the Padawan’s tactics. And once seeing her efforts left him unscathed she changed her approach. She summoned her second hilt back into her hand, and lit it before he had time to step in and do anything. In a swift motion, she shifted her smaller lightsaber into a reverse grip.

He stepped in again, and their fight continued. Their blades twirled with practiced ease, clashed and flashed sporadically on impact. And during this exchange of blows and parries, Shadow started to grow impatient. Quickly, he changed positions: he became the aggressor. His lightsaber slashed at her shoulder and she ducked, stooping back and aside to elude the hit while her lower body remained rooted to the ground.

His blade’s course recalculated and drove for her head. Alas, she side-flipped before the blade finished its route. Her green blades started to twirl again in a flurry of strokes, driving him backwards. Her slashes were curt and closely packed together, but somehow he managed to keep up. And then, suddenly, her blade caught across his chest – slicing through the bandages and reopening the wound.

 _Fuck!_ Shadow howled, but mostly out of rage rather than anger. Her lightsaber came at him again, catching the side of his leg. He jerked out of it with only a minor gash. Jaw clenched, he staggered backwards. By that time, she started easing up on her attacks. It was time to end this. He leaped up and over her with a Force-augmented jump. He landed behind her in a low crouch, pivoting around as he pushed to his full height. He stood just a few inches taller.

His hand seized her wrist, and the blade in her right hand swung for his head but he ducked beneath it. His other hand caught the other wrist and he grinned. She lashed out again, a knee ramming into his abdomen and another up beneath his thigh, but Shadow was ready. He called on the Force again, jerked her arms up into the air and bent his knee. He slammed the sole of his boot against her stomach and let her go; like a raggedy doll she flew into the far wall with a sickening thud!

The Padawan slumped down, her lightsabers dying beside her with a defeated hiss. And it was over.

Shadow loped to her still body, crouching beside it and pressing his fingers against her neck. He calmed the rapid patter in his chest, and willed himself to feel the steady pulse that continued throbbing through her arteries. As much as he wanted to consider killing her, he thought it’d be better for her to live with this defeat for the rest of his life.

His blade extinguished and he returned to his full height. Rayshk clapped his hands with a delightful laugh. “Wonderful,” he crowed. “I’d give that fight a seven out of ten; it didn’t look like you were giving much oomph to it!” The man laughter ended with a soft chuckle before his eyes gleamed toward the Padawan’s out cold body. “Is she dead?”

“No.”

“ _No?_ ”

Shadow easily brushed off Rayshk’s surprise as he turned his attention back toward the door. Rayshk walked beside him. “Why don’t you kill her?” he urged. “There’s no point in leaving her alive!” The dark tone in his voice indicated he wanted Shadow to seriously reconsider.

“She’ll live with the burden of this defeat for the rest of her life,” Shadow answered. He narrowed his eyes at the older man. “Now we’ve got to hurry; my companions are waiting.”

Rayshk ventured only a couple inches ahead, half-way through the door, when laughter erupted from his lips again. “Burden of the defeat?” he echoed amusingly. “Fuck, she would live with that for the rest of her eternity if you killed her. Burden of defeat, eh? Trust me, you won’t know burden of defeat until it hit ‘ya—”

Suddenly, Shadow's temple smashed into the door frame. His eyes grew unfocused, but he knew all too well what had happened; it was Rayshk — with his head in his hands — and he was mercilessly thrashing the apprentice's skull into the metal. The bone on metal thrashing came with a hollow sound.

It was official: the man was deranged.

After the fifth time ramming Shadow's head into the door fame, Rayshk dropped him with a ghastly grin. He leaned in, shaking his head as he reached over and touched a hand to the side of his face. When he retracted his hand, thick red stained the side of his palm.

Shadow struggled to keep his eyes open; his vision started to grow blotchy. And then his world went black, leaving him to only hear Rayshk's voice: "Live with _that_ burden of defeat."


	5. Chapter 4 - Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short interrogation leads to a deal Shadow can't refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter this time.  
> Feel free to leave comments, kudos, & stuff about this work - I'd really appreciate it! (:

**F** or once in his life, everything was...peaceful.

But at first, Shadow only heard a repetitive banging in his head, which drove him crazy. The memory of where it came from looped continuously in his head. _Rayshk_ , he scowled, _this is his fault!_ However, his bitterness didn't last long because the solace that wrapped around him was strong enough to disperse it away.

He stood in the middle of a long-grassed field, looking out across the knolls that rolled farther than the eye could see. The sun was bright, and high above his head. The grass lithely danced beneath breeze that swept across the land. Everything around him whispered surrealism, but regardless of this dreamlike feeling something about this place made him feel warm, welcomed. Like it was home.

“Shadow.”

His eyes traveled around, followed the voice. There, he saw her — the woman from his dream the night before. Here, she glowed. The sun brought out the glow in her smile — her cheeks and her eyes. And just looking at her brought comfort to him, amazed by her beauty but also struck with sadness. She felt like home, but he didn't even know who she was — or where she was. She was so close, but so far away.

“Who are you?” The words suddenly tumbled out of his mouth, shattering the silence and whatever peace he felt just moments ago.

“Shadow,” was all she said. She held out her hand.

He quirked an eyebrow, walking a few steps toward her, and then hesitated. He didn’t know who she was, he reminded himself, nor did he understand how she knew his name or why he suddenly felt the urge to trust. Shadow often took risks in gigantic bounds, but this is ridiculous. Then nightmare from the night before danced through his mind, how much he saw her face frozen with agony and distraught.

It was like she lost something, something so precious that she could never get it back.

“Who are you?” he repeated, voice firm. He wouldn’t move closer until she said.

“You know,” she whispered. “You know. Do the right thing.”

His nerves shivered, setting his body rigid, as he drank in the words. His mind struggled to figure out the puzzle. “What right thing?” he echoed, “Do what?” Shadow stepped forward and then everything around him folded shut like a paper pop-out book, leaving his eyes to see nothing but darkness and hearing muffled sound.

He could barely make out words:

“You can’t be serious.”

“There’s no other choice.”

“He _slaughtered_ them; him and his friends.”

“The council will search for them. For now, I just you to help deal with this…”

_They…got away?_

Shadow’s relief relaxed him through a soft sigh, and then reality began to return to him. He took a couple quick whiffs of the air, smelling cold metal and sweat mixed with a slight iron tang. His eyelids achingly fluttered open. At first, he saw blurry shapes and severely blended colors, but at the third or fifth blink his vision could clearly separate objects.

He was in a big room, suspended in the air by his wrists and ankles. And in this big, unfurnished room he wasn’t alone. Standing by the door stood two people, a Togruta and a tall man – the people whose conversation he managed to pick up on. Shadow squinted, recognizing the apprentice he squared off with earlier, and scowled softly. She didn’t look like she dwelled on their recent encounter, and seemed fairly adamant about not being around him or something like that.

“He’s awake,” the man mused. His blue eyes had settled coolly on Shadow and his scowling face. Casually, he strode over and gave a curt nod. “We were starting to think you would never wake up,” he added when he neared.

Shadow didn’t speak.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I almost forgot my manners: I’m Obi-wan Kenobi, and this is Padawan Ahsoka Tano—” he gestured to the Togruta who rolled her blue eyes, folded her arms, and glanced away scowling. Her reaction conjured up a sly grin on Shadow’s face.

“What do you want from me?” rasped Shadow’s dry voice. He didn’t realize how much he needed water until he started speaking.

“Answers,” Obi-wan replied. “We have so many questions, and your friend, Rayshk, was very reluctant and elusive when he answered them. We’d like to have something to compare his answers with.”

“You’ll get nothing from me,” he huffed. “I, honestly, know nothing.”

He watched as Obi-wan stroked the end of his beard, thinking. Shadow casually flexed his wrists to get a feel of his bindings, to help him understand, and to see if he could devise some sort of escape. Momentarily, his thought process was derailed as he glanced over at Ahsoka, who stared at him with eyes hardened like ice.

Her anger was like tangible hands, caressing over his skin and actually making him breathe easier. But something about her anger was different, almost conflicted. It was as if she knew that she shouldn’t be angry. She couldn’t.

“Are you a Sith?”

Obi-wan’s voice jolted Shadow out of his thoughts, and the feeling of Ahsoka’s anger slipped out of his fingers. Shadow stared blankly, knowing very well not to respond to the question.

“Do you know Count Dooku? Are you his personal assassin?”

“Do-who?” Shadow asked, tilting his head. The name sounded familiar, as his master might have mentioned it a few times over the years, but he had no personal connection to the man this Jedi inquired about.

“He must be a Sith,” Ahsoka piped up, stepping away from the door. Her eyes narrowed slowly at him with suspicion. “I mean- who else in their right minds find slaughtering people fun?”

“You still sore from our scuffle, Sweetheart?” Shadow jeered.

Her shoulders tensed up and she was about to retort when Obi-wan intervened. “Enough!” the Jedi master declared. He gave her a warning glance, and quietly she took a couple steps back. He then returned his attention to Shadow. “How about we make a deal? Something you do for us in exchange for….your freedom?”

The words piqued Shadow’s interest, but he didn’t answer it out loud. Instead, he just stared at Obi-wan, waiting for him to continue. And, thankfully, Obi-wan took his silence as an answer.

“Senator Lanrax is hosting the first annual Senator’s Banquet on Mandalore,” Obi-wan explained, “and someone wants him dead. This is, at least, the second attempt on his life. With this bounty on his head, he needs extra protection, especially since he’ll be on a neutral planet.” He folded his arms across his chest, glancing over at Ahsoka who rolled her eyes and looked away. “If you agree to help us, I am assigning Ahsoka here to act as your handler.”

“You trust me?” Shadow chuckled.

Obi-wan shook his head. “No, we don’t, but seeing that you aren’t really a Sith….it might be nice to offer you some sort of immunity from breaking into our prison, and slaughtering the half the platoon stationed here. There would be a tracking device placed inside you, which the Council will be keeping a close eye over. If Ahsoka fails to report at certain hours, we send all our assets in to apprehend you and you get locked away from the rest of your life.”

Shadow inwardly groaned. _So much for an escape plan…_

“If you try and run, you will be put away for the rest of your life,” Obi-wan pressed. “But if you see this task through, you’ll be released and free to do whatever you please as long as you never do what you just did ever again.”

Shadow grinned feverishly at Ahsoka, “You think she can handle me?”

Her hands closed into fists but she kept her voice locked down in her throat. She wanted to say something, the fire alight in her eyes told him so, but he knew better than to open her mouth. Judging from how difficult it looked for her to hold her tongue, Shadow could tell she was a snippy one.

“Ahsoka is more than capable to handle you,” Obi-wan said. “Now, are you willing to take our offer into consideration? They answer is yes or no now. The Senator departs to Mandalore in the next hour.”

Shadow’s gut twisted at the crunch of time. As much as he wanted to wait for his master, and them to send another rescue team, he knew that it’d grow far too impatient if he did that. He wanted to get these bounds off, to smell the fresh air again! Finally, reluctantly, he nodded his head, “I’ll do it. I’ll help protect this…Senator.” He spoke as if he had bile in his throat, but suppressed the urge to suddenly reconsider his answer; he needed to get out, now.

Ahsoka let out an exasperated sigh, which made Shadow feel a bit better about his current situation. The bright side was he could torment her for the duration of this mission.

Obi-wan must have summoned the clone troopers already because Shadow didn’t even see them enter the room. The walked to his suspended body and injected a syringe filled with some kind of drug. Shadow’s vision suddenly grew fuzzy, and everything around him bled into black.

How long time passed was unknown to him, and his body ached to know.

A bright light jolted him awake and he found himself lying prone on his back, shirtless, and strapped to a cold metal gurney surrounded by medical droids. They finished the quick procedure and started to clean up. Shadow blinked a couple times before he glanced to his right where Ahsoka and Obi-wan watched him closely.

“…Do I get my lightsaber?” Shadow rasped as he sat up, rubbing his aching wrists.

“If you’ve earned it,” Obi-wan mused. “Ahsoka will hold on to it for now.”

Shadow scowled, mostly to himself, before he eased off the medical bed and onto his feet. He brushed his hands over his bare chest, finding the bandages that once wrapped around them had been removed. He glanced down in alarm, seeing that wound across his chest had been sealed, and he knew it’d leave a fairly nasty scar.

“You were still bleeding from a fresh injury,” Obi-wan explained. “The droids stitched you up. Just be sure to get those stitches out in the next five to six days.” He folded his hands behind his back and casually looked toward Ahsoka. “I’m certain you’ll handle everything from here,” he said.

“Of course, Master.” She bowed her head humbly and Obi-wan dismissed himself.

Shadow crossed the room toward the far counter, where his tunic lay folded up, and didn’t bother speaking a word to his new, “Handler.”

“Look,” Ahsoka muttered, “you may have everyone fooled, but you don’t have me fooled. I know what you are, and I don’t trust you. Don't _ever_ expect me to.”

Shadow scoffed as he slowly pulled on his tunic, face softly flinching from the soreness of his chest. “You shouldn’t trust me,” he grinned slyly. “And don’t worry—I won’t ever trust you, if that makes you feel better. But since we’ll be working together, could you at least pretend to like me?”

“You slaughtered countless men without a second thought, without any regret,” Ahsoka hissed. “There is nothing to like about you.” She pivoted around and the door to the room slid open. She took a step to the side, refusing to look at him. “The Senator’s ship is waiting for us,” she grumbled. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Grin still wide on his face, he walked over toward the door. He stopped, leaned closer to her than she’d have liked, and whispered coyly, “I’m going to enjoy this.” Without another word, he exited the room, with a stiff Padawan trailing right behind him trying not to slay him right then and there.


	6. Chapter 5 - Change In Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kareb is struggling with grief, and getting higher prestige doesn't help that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the lack of chapters. Life has been very demanding, & a lot has happened to me since September but now I think I have settled back into rhythm again. Be on the look out for more chapter updates really soon.

**T** he maelstrom in his chest only worsened over the journey back to Korriban and became a black hole sucking the life out of Kareb. He didn’t know what to feel. Shock? Anguish? Hate? Perhaps all three? Whatever the case, he couldn’t numb himself like he always did to stop feeling emotion.

There were times in Kareb’s isolation when the relationship between master and apprentice became…rough. And being subjected beneath Tylo’s grotesque affection, he learned to tune himself out and ride the turbulence. Soon enough the majority of scars on his body held no story behind it mostly because he couldn’t remember.

And now here he stood in the middle of the academy’s main chamber, listening to the masters, Rayshk, and Sheema bark about the events that unfolded a few hours before. To Kareb it was like they were trapped in a soundproof room, just white noise easily overpowered by silence. It took will power to do that.

It still surprised him even further that Kareb didn’t strangle Rayshk over the course of their return. The urge nearly fell completely over him. But had he acted on he wouldn’t have been the only corpse left to rot; two more would be added to the pile and for the rest of their spiritual existence they’d rot in the consequences of their failure (and Kareb’s lack of self-control).

But that didn’t happen.

At least not yet.

“We do nothing—” cut in Orron’s voice.

“What do you mean do _nothing_?” Sheema’s voice raised two octaves higher than usual, choked up with emotion and the overwhelming disbelief of the words that came from his mouth. “We can’t do fucking nothing!”

“Sheema!” Vittion’s warning came with a cold glare.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Orron grumbled. He whirled around and began making his way down the hall toward his chamber. “He’s on his own. We can’t waste our time with this—”

“Shadow’s my brother!” Kareb’s voice hushed everyone in the room and steadily drew the attention unto him. It didn’t matter; he didn’t want to be afraid anymore. Fearlessly, his eyes bore into Orron’s back as if quietly urging him to turn around and face him. He had little awareness that his hand, half furled, had dropped to his hip, his fingers inches away from his lightsaber.

The tension in the air grew thicker and sticky, and wrapped itself around Kareb to the point it struggled for him to breathe. As if in slow motion, Orron turned around and faced him – eyes narrowed into slits as he briefly scrutinized the grieving brother. And then his deadpan face changed – lip curled up like he’d just seen something foul, eyebrows furrowed with deep agitation – and showed nothing but sheer disgust. Orron’s eyes pinned down on Tylo.

“Your apprentice speaks out of turn. I thought during his training you taught him manners, more so to keep personal connections loose and not completely tethered!”

Tylo’s eyes narrowed and his nasty-burned face shifted toward Kareb. “I _did_.” The growl in his voice resembled that of one at the top of the food chain, the Alpha who didn’t tolerate being questioned.

Kareb finally continued. “We need to save Shadow; he’s valuable.”

“He is… _expendable_.” Orron arms folded tight against his chest. “He is worth nothing more than dirt. Rayshk did right taking him out when he had the chance. Shadow was distracted, spineless; he isn’t _worth_ our attention.”

Kareb’s throat went dry and he was at a loss of words. Nothing good enough, or witty for that matter, could comeback everything Orron spilled out. Whatever rebuttal he had always ended with the same, meaningless point: He is my brother.

“Kareb is grieving,” Vittion said softly.

He felt his jaw tighten _. I am not grieving_ , he wanted to spat, _I’m angry; we left him in the hands of those filthy Jedi and their precious Republic!_ But he knew if he did he’d be speaking out of turn. He only answered with silence, something so easily misunderstood.

“If Shadow is loyal to us, then he will fight,” Orron grumbled. “This is his problem now. Right now- we forget him; erase his existence from our memories. There’s just a slight change in plans, Kareb.” He calmly walked forward, the disgust on his face melting away the closer he got. “I will be taking over your training.” Orron stood only a couple inches away now. He stooped closer to Kareb’s ear and whispered, “You will replace Shadow.”

The thought baffled him, and once again the urge to speak out in objection left him silent. Kareb momentarily met those chilling gilded eyes before his gaze dropped down to his feet. A low, “Yes, Master,” slipped from his lips right after. Orron’s hand patted his shoulder approvingly.

“Good,” Orron whispered. “Now sleep. We’ll begin resuming your training tomorrow.”

Kareb nodded, raised his head and met Sheema’s disgusted face. For now, this was what he’d have to live with.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Postings will be every Saturday unless states otherwise! 
> 
> And please, bear with me on this - I am still trying to understand/get use to the system here! (:


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